A Forced Feeding of Firefly Fare
by Lady Bitter Irony
Summary: Nobody gets out of a samurai toast! But on the eve of battle, convincing the most intimidating of the samurai to eat firefly gruel might be more than they can handle…


Necessary disclaimer that I always forget: The plot, setting, and characters of Samurai 7 are not mine. Nor is firefly gruel, thank goodness. The lollipop flavors, however…

A Forced Feeding of Firefly Fare

"So…how is it?"

Heihachi swallowed and considered taking another mouthful of the firefly gruel to buy time, but it didn't seem worth it. "Um, not quite as good as rice," he said diplomatically.

Shichiroji looked relieved at the mellowness of his reaction. On the other side of the fire, Katsushiro turned an interesting shade of green, set down his bowl of firefly gruel, and quietly excused himself. Heihachi smiled sympathetically after him while steeling himself for another bite. Or sip, or whatever portions you ate firefly gruel in. For a seeming liquid, it was surprisingly chewy.

After what he judged to be about an eternity and a half of vigorous swallowing, Heihachi placed the empty bowl on the floor before him. He and Shichiroji shared a sigh of relief. In the ensuing silence, he contemplated a run for the nearest irrigation ditch to try and rise the taste from his mouth.

"Well, that's everybody…" Shichiroji frowned. "Except…"

Heihachi ran through a mental list of samurai. He and Katsushiro had just finished their firefly gruel, Shichiroji and Kambei had eaten it first before serving the rest of them, Kikuchiyo had swallowed an entire kettle (literally) as part of what he called his 'recovery' from playing with the village children. That left…

"Gorobei-dono?" he asked hopefully.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" Gorobei entered the room and froze midstep, a smile still lingering on his face. "Oh…"

"Want some?" Heihachi asked.

"Actually…"

"I've already served Gorobei-san," Shichiroji admitted.

"Oh." Something sank in the pit of Heihachi's stomach. It might have been the firefly gruel. "Then we're missing…"

"Yes. Kyuzo-dono."

The sinking thing went past the bottom of Heihachi's stomach, through his feet, and right into the floor. He glanced at a corner of the room where his new gun leaned against the wall. He wasn't sure he wanted to be part of whatever Shichiroji might be planning. First, it had been very considerate of Kyuzo to steal a massive Nobuseri weapon and think of him. Second, anybody who could take out a Raiden and then scale a sheer cliff no-handed by necessity of carrying a gun a little bigger than he was and while holding a sword between his teeth would probably not submit quietly to a feeding of firefly gruel—nor would he need to. Also, Heihachi was pretty sure that the infliction of certain amounts of physical or emotional damage had been outlawed after the Great War.

Shichiroji and Gorobei exchanged a glance. "I don't suppose we could just…" the pinwheel-haired samurai began.

"You've got to be kidding!" Gorobei laughed the most hearty and terrifying laugh ever to reach Heihachi's ears, then grinned in a way that deepened his eyesockets into black pits. "Nobody escapes a samurai toast!"

Trees. Only trees. Not the looming metallic towers of Kogakyo, or the battle-scarred desert, or the smelly peasant village full of smelly peasants. Just fresh green trees, as far as the eye could see.

Not that he could see them at the moment. Kyuzo's eyes were closed, and he was floating pleasantly in and out of sleep. He never dreamed, but when his eyes snapped open at an unexpected noise, he began to suspect he had started.

Shimada Kambei stood before him looking morose, even for Shimada Kambei. He held a tray with chopsticks, a spoon, and a bowl of something steaming in the forest air. Heihachi stood beside him, looking equally unhappy and perhaps a bit guilty, holding a kettle of the same steaming stuff. To his left stood Shichiroji, who held Kyuzo's swords in their scabbard. Presumably he had grabbed them using the grapple on his mechanical arm.

Which was just as well for him, because if Kyuzo _had_ carried anything bladed on his person, and they had been any closer, the pinwheel-haired samurai would need more than a new arm.

Kikuchiyo loomed behind the other samurai, and Gorobei's smile glinted in his shadow. Only that big-eyed kid, Katsushiro, was missing.

So he was outnumbered. Five against one. That in itself wouldn't be much of a problem, but he was also unarmed. Though, of course, he would never attempt fatal violence on his companions-in-arms, unless—he glanced at the steaming kettle—unless they were planning something really vile.

"What do you want?"

Kambei offered the tray with what for him was an overhearty cheeriness, and which for anybody else would be the sort of sentiment used to greet a rainy day. Speaking of rainy days, Heihachi's weather doll seemed to be trembling, along with the rest of the redheaded samurai. He wondered what had him so worked up.

"Firefly gruel," Kambei said. "Want some?"

Kyuzo's first thought was to say _no_, but that would require opening his mouth, which he wasn't sure he wanted to do with that tray so close to him. So he settled for a glare in reply.

Kambei glared back. Kyuzo hated making eye contact with him sometimes, if only because the white-coated samurai refused to be intimidated. That, and the Nobuseri were right, he _did_ have the eyes of a dead man. Wisps of steam from the firefly gruel drifted past his face like smoke from brimstone in hell.

It would be wrong to kill him before the job was finished, especially over something as petty as firefly gruel. Then the wind shifted, and Kyuzo caught the scent of the stuff. On second thought, no, not petty at all.

"It's nourishing for the soul," Kambei added as if to seal the deal.

"I don't have a soul." Kyuzo didn't strictly speaking believe that, but now wasn't the time to get into a theological debate with a more precise explanation of why he didn't feel eating the gruel would benefit him spiritually. Although souls might be a better topic of heated discussion than whether or not he would have to eat the stuff.

Heihachi frowned. "Of course you do, Kyuzo-dono. A samurai's soul is his sword. So actually…" He glanced at the scabbard in Shichiroji's hands. "You seem to have two."

"So I can afford to let one starve to death."

Someone sighed. It was none of the visible samurai, so he supposed it was Gorobei, safely concealed behind Kambei and Heihachi. Kikuchiyo's gears whirred.

"Come on! You might act all dark and superior and stuff, but you're still one of us. And we've all served our time. Eat up!"

Kyuzo would have turned to glare at him, but he was still working on Kambei. He wasn't having much success. A corner of Kambei's eye twitched, but that seemed to be because he was breaking into a smile.

Only one possible response to that.

Kyuzo smiled back.

It was one of his best combat smiles: toothy, with teeth slightly parted as if to rip someone's throat out. To some extent, it was sincere. To a further extent it was effective; all of the samurai except Kambei stepped back, Kikuchiyo's gears whirring in consternation and Heihachi's weather doll fairly dancing on its string.

Kambei's smile fell. Kyuzo realized he was winning, and then, on a train of thought uncharacteristic for him, wondered what his victory might entail. An escape from the oily steaming stuff in the bowl, that was certainly worthwhile, but then what? What would happen to Kambei if one of the samurai refused to obey him in such a small thing? His leadership would suffer, and on the eve of a battle…

Kambei saw his resolve waver. That was embarrassing. On some level, Kyuzo knew sacrificing his pride (and possibly intestinal lining) for the sake of the team's solidarity was the honorable thing to do, but…

The white-coated samurai leaned closer and whispered, so softly Kyuzo himself could barely hear, "I'm begging you."

Kyuzo nodded slightly, letting it be known he was appropriately grateful. He was. Kambei had humbled himself in an incredible face-saving gesture, and now Kyuzo could give in to his request—his plea, as it was—with honor and the group cohesion intact.

If his stomach could handle it.

He reached for the bowl of firefly gruel, took it up, and, without his eyes leaving Kambei's, tipped it back and drank.

Firefly gruel…he wasn't sure if it was flavorless or packed full of flavor, solid or liquid, sticky or slippery. He couldn't even guess at the ingredients. It tasted like it contained a lot of protein.

He set the bowl down on the tray beside the unused spoon and chopsticks. He and Kambei exchanged another glance.

"Thanks." He turned to Heihachi. "I'll have another one."

Heihachi jumped. Kikuchiyo chortled, but since it wasn't a very friendly sort of chortle Kyuzo suspected it was at him rather than the redheaded samurai's surprise. He guessed it might be an impressed chortle, if such things existed. He wasn't a connoisseur of laughter.

"Are you sure?" Heihachi asked.

Kyuzo nodded curtly. Kambei was staring at him, eyes sparkling with admiration. Or something. Kyuzo was surprised to realize the regard felt almost pleasant, and it helped the next bowl go down easier. And the next. And the next.

"You've got to be kidding me," Gorobei whispered as Heihachi scraped the bottom of the kettle. He sounded awed.

Kyuzo's mouth was numb. There was a vaguely warm lump traveling down his throat, which he supposed was the firefly gruel; he was just glad it moved steadily along without backtracking. He couldn't feel his stomach, but there seemed to be a lead weight hanging from the end of his esophagus.

He looked at the faces around him—shocked, impressed, in Heihachi's case almost guilty, and in Kambei's nearly reverent—and decided he had never felt better.

Maybe firefly gruel _was_ nourishing for the soul.

"There." He set the bowl on the tray with a clap of finality. "I'm finished."

Shichiroji swallowed and Kikuchiyo laughed nervously. Heihachi dropped the kettle and fished through the pockets of his vest. He surfaced with a ruby-red lollipop.

"Here." He offered it to Kyuzo.

"Thanks." His tastebuds tingled to life at the flavor of some mechanically-tinged berry. Kyuzo never knew the combination of rust and fruit could be so welcome.

He grinned around the lollipop stick at Kambei. The white-coated samurai nodded, then turned and said to the others, "Come on. Let's go."

They nodded jerkily like a row of toys. Heihachi took up the kettle. Shichiroji tossed Kyuzo's scabbard back at him. He caught it without looking. His eyes were still on Kambei's back.

"One thing," he said.

"Yes?"

"If any of you," he said, words only slightly slurred by the lollipop in his mouth, "come back here tonight, job or no job, I will kill you."

Kambei half-turned. Kyuzo saw him smile, but didn't think the others noticed. "All right. Sleep well."

The other samurai turned and followed him. Heihachi looked back once, eyes wide. Gorobei bowed before leaving, with a sort of courtly respect.

Kyuzo set his scabbard against his shoulder and wrapped his arms around it, still sucking the lollipop. That had been nice of Heihachi. If he had the chance, Kyuzo would have to get him a Raiden gun or some Tobito parts. Unless he already had. Well, a mechanic could always use more. In any event, he hoped Heihachi's gift would assuage any guilt the redheaded samurai felt for his part in the firefly gruel feeding.

But if he came back, he still might have to kill him. Hell, anybody who returned after that ultimatum would had to be asking for it.

Karma was with Heihachi. In getting the lollipop for Kyuzo, he had also discovered one for himself in the very bottom of a forgotten pocket. It was blue-green, his favorite, having a hint of machine oil rather than rust. He was contentedly sucking away the last memory of firefly gruel when he passed Katsushiro on the path through the forest. The young samurai seemed mostly recovered, although the rims of his eyes looked a little gray.

"Hey," Heihachi began.

"Heihachi-dono." Katsushiro held his arms stiffly at his side and bowed. "Thank you for our conversation earlier. It has helped me to think of my duty as a samurai. I now know what I want to become—a man of skill and honor such as yourself, and Sensei—and Kyuzo-dono."

He walked past Heihachi, into the forest. The redheaded samurai suddenly realized what he was hearing. The implications hit like an exploding catapult. The lollipop fell from his mouth as he turned and cried, "Katsushiro! Wait!"

The youth had already disappeared into the woods, and Heihachi didn't dare follow him.

Visions of fireflies, Kambei, and lollipops danced through Kyuzo's head. He supposed these must be dreams, perhaps even the kind called nightmares. He swallowed a whimper and tried to think of trees. Even if it had mopped up the worst of the remaining taste, he probably shouldn't have eaten the lollipop stick.

He heard something in the real world, the crack of a twig beneath a human footstep. An attack? Or worse—was one of the other samurai returning?

Either way, the result would be the same. He had a reputation to regain. In a single smooth motion, he drew his sword and brought it down…inches from Katsushiro's face.

"Do you want to die?"


End file.
